


Hachi AKA Squidgeta Origins

by Emmaekaywrites



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Gen, Squidgeta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 02:39:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16276268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmaekaywrites/pseuds/Emmaekaywrites
Summary: “You shouldn’t leave things like this in the kitchen!”Vegeta drinks a drink that isn't a drink at all and transforms into SQUIDGETA - his mightiest form yet???A comedy in eight parts.





	1. Chapter 1

“You shouldn’t leave things like this in the kitchen!” Vegeta’s voice was angry, but small, like he was yelling through a cell phone with a bad connection, or like he was down the hallway.

He wasn’t, of course; he was at Bulma’s feet in the kitchen, looking brutally angry - even in this strange new transformation. 

“You shouldn’t eat and drink everything in sight!” Bulma yelled back, resisting the very real temptation to poke him with the pointy toe of her high heeled boot. “Learn to read a label!”

“What if this would have happened to the boy! Or if your mother had mistaken it for baby food and given it to Bulla!” Vegeta’s scowl deepened and his flesh flashed rings of bright blue against his newly purple skin. Bulma knelt down and gingerly picked her husband up from the floor. She lifted him easily, now that he was an eight inch by eight inch Blue Ringed Octopus. 

Bulma had been working on a new Capsule Corp project for space saving technology. As she thought about new ways to improve Capsule tech, she thought about the way the octopus at the aquarium could squeeze his way into the tiny cracks and crevices in his environment. Bulma began to poke around with a sample of DNA from a blue ringed octopus, choosing that species because of its ability to camouflage at times and flash bright blue rings of warning or alarm at other times. It seemed useful, but in what way, she hadn’t yet decided. 

This was Bulma’s way when inventing or experimenting - she would allow her mind to pull on any string it found, let the puzzle unravel, then put it together in surprising and amazing ways. As she let her mind wander over the puzzle of the abilities of the octopus, she decided it would be best if she could just… talk to one. There were talking animals all over the world, of course, like Oolong and Puar and why shouldn’t she have a talking octopus? 

So, she set about meddling with this DNA and that DNA and this chemical until she found a combination she was sure would, given to an octopus, allow it to speak to her. She placed the clear mixture in a tall glass beaker and walked it to the refrigeration unit in her lab - but it was broken.

And that’s where Vegeta’s trouble began.

He’d trained hard, rising before the sun - and before his son - to get in a real training session in the gravity room. As soon as the boy was up, he’d want to train with Vegeta, but Bulma had recently forbade Trunks from training with any of the dangerous laserbots Vegeta used to hone his own battle skills. So, Vegeta trained twice a day now - once with the intense gravity and murderous robots each trying to rip him apart, and a second time with his son. He used the less intense training with Trunks to hone his accuracy. 

Vegeta emerged from the gravity room steaming, starving and thirsty. He made his way, as he always did after training, to the kitchen. He threw the cold food cabinet open wide, and there at his eye level was a small pitcher of ice cold water. He snatched it up and gulped it down in one swallow. As the greasy sizzle traveled down his throat, Vegeta realized his mistake - but too late. 

He was already feeling the poison, or whatever this was, crippling him. Vegeta gripped the counter, hard enough to crack the granite, trying to regain control of his body. But it was pointless. Vegeta’s grip slipped away from the countertop, and he crumpled to the floor.

 

And so, when Bulma went to the refrigerator to collect her little potion, she found the situation like this:

The glass beaker, drained.

The kitchen island, cracked.

A Saiyan training suit, empty.

Her husband, an octopus.


	2. Two

°°°Two°°°

Vegeta didn’t consider himself one to wallow. One to hold a grudge, certainly; one to bend others - time and fate included - to his will, of course. But to wallow in misfortune, to put his tentacles up and say woe… that was not Vegeta’s style.

_Tentacles._

Vegeta sighed, bubbles blowing out of his little beak and up through the water of the fish tank where Bulma had plopped him.

“This is not befitting my status!” he shook a tentacle at her, blue rings flashing on his soft but leathery skin.

“Your status? You’re an OCTOPUS!” Bulma sniped, exasperated and beginning to wonder if she would be in the tabloids, accused of bestiality, by this time tomorrow.  _Frickin’ SAIYANS!_

“I am the Prince of all Saiyans - oozaru or octopus or orangutan!” he tried to yell, bubbles and water impeding his very royal sounding anger.

Bulma threw up her hands. “Whatever! I have to go figure out how to fix this,” and she stalked away, high heels clicking with authority.

Vegeta began to problem solve on his own. First problem, he was still starving. The fish swam around him and he snaked a tentacle forward - some part of him insisted that these were food. _EAT_ , this part of himself implored him.  _EAT._

So he did.

Vegeta was chewing on the second of professor Briefs’ pet fish when the man himself walked into the room.

  
“What in blazes! When did we get an octopus!? And why would anyone put it in with the fish! TRUNKS!” the old man called out for his grandson. Vegeta blanched. _I do not want my son to see me like this._ He looked down and saw sand… or was it sand? No, it was him, his bottom half blending in with his surroundings completely. Apparently, this creature possessed some kind of camouflaging capabilities. Certainly, with his advanced brain and this type of color changing skin…

_Ultimate stealth!_ Vegeta thought, using his many limbs to crawl his way out of the tank. His new arms and legs were surprisingly strong, though he couldn’t tell which were legs and which were arms… Vegeta crawled down the table, across the room, skin changing and blending easily in with the wood table, the woolen carpet, and eventually the white walls as he worked his way up one. He’d pass right over their heads, find somewhere in Bulma’s lab to lay low, and his boy would be none the wiser.

Pop, pop, pop went the sucker cups on Vegeta’s limbs as he cruised easily across the ceiling.  _This isn’t so bad. I’ll consider this training - in stealth, self-control, accurac-_

Suddenly, Vegeta lost all grip on the wall and went plummeting down to the floor. His body had dried, leaving his suction cup limbs unable to hold on. All eight tentacles flailed wildly as he fell for what seemed like an eternity. _How long has it been since I felt the sensation of falling?_ Vegeta wondered after he hit the ground. Of course, he’d been able to fly since he was a child and only rarely had he fought to such exhaustion that he’d fall out of the sky entirely.  _At least the landing was soft._

  
Vegeta looked around himself, and found that he was totally surrounded by blank, empty faces staring dumbly at him. They were huge, and right in his face. Instinctively, Vegeta reached out a tentacle and slapped the closest assailant away.  _Huh? Soft?_

Of course, the assailants were no such thing, and they weren’t “huge;” they were the same size as Vegeta, to be sure, but he was no longer himself. No, they were only about 5 inches tall - and all but one was a stuffed toy.

“Papa?” Baby Bulla frowned, reaching for his tentacle.

Vegeta stared at her. Would Bulla be strong enough to pull his arms off in this form? Would she be so inclined? He gulped and whispered, “Bulla. No, no. Papa’s… busy.”

“Papa!” Bulla shrieked with glee, reaching for him and scooping him clumsily into her chubby little arms. “Papa!” she let out a great peal of laughter, squishing and squeezing him.

“Bulla…! Bulla put me down!” Vegeta squirmed against the child’s grip, but there was no escape. He was Bulla’s new favorite toy… He wondered how long it would take before she began to chew on him…

Suddenly, Bulla was lifted away and Vegeta plopped, undignified, back to the padded playmat. Bulma’s mother had lifted the baby away, “Bathtime, Bulla! Let’s go get squeaky clean!”

Immediately, Bulla began to wail. “PAPA PAPA PAAAPAAA,” she reached for him. Vegeta felt his heart split - no man was immune to the cries of his own daughter. But he couldn’t comfort her, not like this, couldn’t run to her and pick her up and tell Bulma’s mother that the baby was perfectly clean enough and not to interrupt her play… As Bulla continued to cry, reaching down for him, Vegeta could think of just one thing to do… one very, very unprincely thing. One very embarrassing thing.

Vegeta froze all his limbs stock still, plastered a stupid grin on his octopine face, and made his black eyes big, beady and dumb. Then, he fell over onto Bulma’s mother’s foot. She looked down, tipping Bulla over as she did. Bulla reached, stretched with all her might, calling, “Papa, papa!”

“Papa?” Bulma’s mother scrunched up her face quizzically before picking Vegeta right up off the floor. Bulla reached over and snatched him out of her grandmother’s grasp and cooed, “Papa,” contentedly.

“So that’s what you wanted!” the woman said to Bulla, tapping her lightly on the nose. “Well, I guess it does look a little bit like Vegeta, after all.” She gave his body a rough squeeze. “Seems waterproof enough! I guess we can take him to the bath.”

And off to the bathroom they went, and Vegeta continued to do his best stupid-squeaky-toy impression, unless the woman’s back was turned. After the baby was cleaned to her evidently arbitrary specifications, she allowed Bulla to play with a few toys. “Oh wait! I have the funniest idea,” she told Bulla, reaching behind the baby into a tub of water toys.

She pulled out a little snorkeling mask, and of all the indignity - she strapped it to his face. “Isn’t it funny, Bulla!” The baby looked, and laughed uproariously as her grandmother waddled him back and forth for their amusement.

  
Vegeta remembered dying. He remembered being shot through the heart by a tyrant who had murdered nearly his entire race. He remembered feeling the fire rip through him, the life bleed out of him.

_This hurt more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Youch - right in the pride.


End file.
